


Underestimation

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, M/M, slightlycrazy!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘And people think I’m the harmless one…’ he chuckles mentally ‘Sometimes, ignorance is bliss, I guess’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underestimation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsalwaysanthea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwaysanthea/gifts).



> First Sherlock fic I write, so be kind.

‘ _Honestly_ ’ John thought, while he cleaned his gun, enjoying the brief peace that followed the solving of a mystery, before Sherlock got down from his triumphant high and got bored again, ‘ _Sometimes I can see why Sherlock thinks that the entire police force is composed of idiots_. ’

 

He thought about what he would write on his blog later that day, and what he would leave out of it. This particular case involved a band that dealt with drugs. Sherlock, as usual had managed to find out where their headquarters were and went in without waiting for the yarders. 

 

If he hadn’t texted John requesting his presence on the site, no one would have noticed that he got overwhelmed and captured by the criminals until they found his body dumped somewhere, probably the Thames, taking into account that said HQ was in an abandoned warehouse near it.

 

John had asked Sherlock, repeatedly, not to go chasing suspects without backup. Sherlock may have a judo mastery, but with enough opponents that wouldn’t help him at all. He had tried to impress the danger of tackling large organizations on his own. Sherlock, of course, always ignored him, thinking himself unbeatable, nearly immortal. It was ludicrous, for him, that someone of lesser intellect would manage to do him in.

 

As it was, John had added 6 kills to his list of people that he had shot in order to save Sherlock from his own stupidity. That list had surpassed the double digits a long time ago, and was fast approaching half a hundred.

 

Which brought him back to the fact that the people of New Scotland Yard were either idiots, or woefully unobservant and unable to put two and two together and come up with four. Because so far, no one had caught on a really important fact: that when Sherlock Holmes was in danger, people turned up dead, taken down with a single shot, and that all the bullets came from the exact same gun.

 

John liked to think that it was Mycroft’s interference that made it so, because if it wasn’t, he would really fear for the safety of all England.

 

But seriously, was John so harmless looking that no one ever suspected him of shooting all those criminals? Almost everyone he knew in London thought of him as Doctor John Watson, the small man with the kindly face. He didn’t need Sherlock’s observation powers to be able to tell that.

 

No one seemed to remember Captain John Watson. That he had been at war, and not only that, he had been on the frontlines, not in the back in one of the hospitals. That while the RAMC may be a non-fighting arm of the army, they still got trained on weapon handling. 

 

Since John always wore bulky clothing, no one noticed that his body was as fit as it had been when he was in Afghanistan, having trained to regain his physical status after going through rehab, and kept fit with the constant running and fighting he had done since he came to live with Sherlock. Also, his jumpers concealed perfectly the gun he kept on the back of his trousers. 

 

No one noticed that John Watson was almost constantly armed. No one noticed that of the two of them, in a fight, it was John Watson the one that was most dangerous. 

 

Being underestimated had its advantages, of course. Suspects almost always overlooked him, since his clothes, face and height suggested that he was only a pudgy, middle-aged man. A sidekick. Only there to stroke Sherlock’s ego. ‘ _Idiots_ ’ John thought again.

 

They never thought that the little side-kick could climb into the warehouse’s rafters and pick them off one by one with his gun. They couldn't even begin to imagine what he could do with a sniper rifle, that one of his patients taught him to use while he was recovering and John had the day off. No, the only thing they could do was try to get away and shoot blindly to where they thought he was.

 

In the end, they were all dead and John came down, cool as you please, and untied Sherlock from the chair he was bound to, chiding him all the way for being reckless and not waiting for him, and then using his handkerchief to wipe some of the blood and brain matter that had splattered Sherlock when he had shot a man, that was about to carve into the detective with a knife, in the head. 

 

That wouldn't be on the blog post. Mycroft may be able to deflect any attempt to identify the shooter, but admitting to killing several people in a public blog on the internet was just stupid.

 

John couldn't believe that even Greg wasn't able to see it. They had shared more than a few pints since they met each other on the first case he helped Sherlock with, the one with the pink woman. The DI often spoke about how glad he was that someone sane was around to manage Sherlock. That someone as nice and kind as John was just what the detective needed to learn some humanity.

 

Neither, he, nor Sally, who kept insisting that Sherlock was dangerous and that he should get away from him, or Anderson, who thought of him as little more than Sherlock’s pet doctor, knew John. Not really. They knew the part that he projected to the public. They saw his civilian act. He had them all fooled (and Sherlock thought he couldn't lie well… there’s always something, wasn’t there?)

 

Only Sherlock and his brother (and quite possibly Anthea) knew the whole that was John. He was the doctor, sure, but he was also the soldier, and that part was just as important. They saw the man that shot an elderly person because he was a threat to Sherlock, and then joked about it and went to eat. They saw the John that killed again and again in order to protect the man that gave him a reason to live.

 

John had once fought, killed and healed for his country. He had been ruthless (like he told Sherlock, he had bad days, and everyone that had served with John knew that he was not a person to be messed with when he was pissed) and efficient. Now he fought, killed and healed for Sherlock, and may God have mercy of those who tried to harm him, because he would not. John knew that his life was irrevocably tied to Sherlock’s. He would do everything that he could, and some things that he couldn’t, to keep both of them alive. Because he knew that there was no John Watson without Sherlock Holmes. And he liked to think that he meant just as much to the detective.

 

John knew he wasn’t exactly sane. No person that could kill as easily as he did was. It was what made him able to live with Sherlock with scarcely any problems, besides the occasional fright when he found himself with something unexpected, like a head in the fridge (but even that became normal to him, now he only got annoyed when the body parts dripped into the food).

 

John Watson was not sane. John Watson was not harmless. But he served Sherlock better if people thought he was, because it made it easier to work when other people went to John to make him act as an intermediary. Because John took care of the social niceties so Sherlock didn’t need to waste time bothering with them. Because John took care of any mess he left behind, and helped him get out of any problem he found himself in.

 

And speaking of taking care of things for Sherlock, it seemed that Mrs. Hudson had come up with tea and biscuits. He finished cleaning his gun, put it back together and stashed it on his trousers. He put on his nice guy face and went to meet her, locking up the killer for when it was needed again.

 

‘ _And people think I’m the harmless one…_ ’ he chuckles mentally ‘ _Sometimes, ignorance is bliss, I guess_ ’


End file.
